Petals
by griseldalafey
Summary: After surviving a fire when she was a child, Belle French' face is scarred. She works for the seclusive Mr. Gold and tends to his rose garden, never realizing that the shy man has fallen in love with her. Unable to believe she will ever return his feelings, he proposes a deal instead: he'll pay for her reconstructive surgery if she agrees to marry him. AU/No curse
1. Chapter 1

_Author's note: _This is based on a prompt by the wonderful repeatinglitanies.

**Chapter 1**

Once upon a time, in a small town in New England lived a young woman by the name of Belle French.

Life had not always been kind to her. When she was only twelve years old a devastating fire had destroyed her childhood home, killed her mother and almost took her own life. Only at the last possible second a brave fireman had been able to pull her away from the scorching flames and wrapped her up in a blanket to extinguish the flames that were already licking at her skin.  
Because of his quick actions she had escaped relatively unharmed, save from the nasty burn on the right side of her face, the one lasting result of her ordeal.  
Even years later, she still cringed at the memory of how helpless and lonely she had felt in the long, dark nights at the hospital, the side of her face burning with agonizing pain, her heart empty and crushed from the loss of her mother.

Over time her wounds turned into scars, both inside and out. She still missed her mother terribly, almost daily, but she could remember her now with a fond smile.

The scars on her face were another matter entirely. The skin of her right cheek was marred with ridges and always felt tight. The redness of the burns had faded as the years wore on, but there was still some noticeable discoloring.  
Belle was used to the staring, even though everybody knew what had happened to her. She was used to people's eyes constantly riveting to the ugly marks as they talked to her.

She was used to children pointing at her and hearing a curious: "_What has happened to…?_" before they were shushed by mortified adults.  
She was used to strangers recoiling in shock after taking a first look at her and awkwardly adverting her eyes from then on.

Yet there were times when people's coarseness bothered her. Like when she had graduated from college with a BA in library science and excellent marks and the town council of Storybooke still decided they didn't want to employ her as a librarian.  
The straight-forward Major Mills had little qualms about revealing the true reason for their rejection: "With the library being such an essential institute, we feel we should hire a person who has a less off-putting appearance. The librarian is after all one of the public faces of the town. And we'd rather not have yours… I'm sure you'll understand."

Belle had smiled a tight, forced smile, answering politely that she indeed understood perfectly and had never given the other woman another glance.

And if she had cried that night, alone in her bed, hot tears of frustration and sadness trickling down the ruined skin of her face, no one would ever know about it.

* * *

Instead of becoming a librarian, she worked at her father's flower shop. It wasn't a bad life, although it was a far cry from the dreams she'd had when she was a child.  
She contented herself with the thought that at least she was being indispensable to her father.  
Maurice French had never fully financially recovered from the fire that had turned all of his worldly possessions into ash and had left him with a sky-high medical bill as a result of Belle's hospitalization.  
At least now she could help him pay off the debt.

Then on a chilly, bleak February morning Mr. Gold came into the shop and made his short and to the point request.  
He planned on restoring the rose garden that belonged to his Victorian mansion and wished to hire their services to make it happen.

For Belle it was the challenge she'd been waiting for ever since her hopes of becoming a librarian had gone up in smoke and she had agreed enthusiastically to work for him three days a week, starting March.  
In the intervening weeks she spend her evenings reading up on the care and cultivating of roses, checking out various heavy volumes from the library, determined to come in as prepared as possible.

When she arrived at the pink mansion on the first day of March with a clear idea in her head how she was going to tackle such a task, she was pleasantly surprised to find the conservatory at the back of the house to be a spacious, welcoming place, well equipped with all the tools she needed to start.  
She soon discovered that the landscaping of the garden was rather beautiful, with lovely, natural slopes, perfect lightening and a charming victorian gazebo right in the middle of it.

Her imagination went in overdrive, picturing all the beautiful roses and scrubs she could plant along the boarders of the lawn, creating the perfect cottage garden.  
Later that morning she met with Mr. Gold and she was very pleased to find that he intended on sparing no expanses on the garden and basically gave her a carte blanche to order everything as she saw fit.

Prior to agreeing to work for him, Belle had hardly ever interacted with Mr. Gold. She knew he owned most of the town, including the building that housed her father's shop and that in the past there had been difficulties between the two men. Ever since she had taken over the job of keeping the accounts from her father she had meticulously made sure that the rent was paid on time every month and since then there had been little reason for Mr. Gold to visit them, other than the collect the rent and those visits had always been brief, polite affairs.  
She knew him to be a reticent, complicated sort of man with a quick temper and a tongue like a razor when provoked.

But during their short meeting he appeared almost pleasant, obviously amused by her enthusiasm and she decided he looked a great deal less fearsome when he almost-but-not-quite smiled at her.

* * *

Looking back he was never quite able to tell what on earth had possessed him, although restoring the rose garden had been on his to do list for a long time. His sentiments for that were purely practical. From a historical point of view, the rose garden was an inextricable part of his house and he was enough of an antiques dealer to want to restore the house he lived in to its original glory.

And when the kind-hearted florist daughter jumped at the chance to make it her project, well, why wouldn't he employ her services?  
Belle French appeared to be one of the few people in town who understood the concept of paying rent: a monthly recurring obligation that simply had to be fulfilled. It was quite refreshing to have at least one tenant who was capable of having the money ready when it was due each month and could even spare him a slight smile along with it.

Her eagerness and dedication to the job were rather endearing and if he was going to have to tolerate another person in his house and garden for months to come it might as well be her.

Still, he was quite unprepared for the whirl of light and life she brought with her.

Every Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday morning at eight o' clock sharp she appeared on his doorstep, clad in a practical pair of bright red Wellington boots and a completely impractical skirt, cheerfully wishing him a good morning before dashing off to the conservatory.

For the first month there was just a lot of groundwork to be done, ground to be fertilized, scrubs to be planted and an ingenious irrigation system to be installed.  
But half way through April the night frost disappeared and the days became warmer and filled with sunshine and the first rosebuds began burgeoning.

He found himself starting to try and find excuses to linger in the conservatory and talk to her and she didn't make it very difficult for him to do so. There was always a book about landscaping she wanted to show him, or pictures she wanted him to look at, at one of those modern iPad things she brought along. Apparently she had collected a near endless collection of pictures of roses and gardens on a site called Pinterest.

She included him in every decision and every idea she had and although after the first month he had an infallible trust in her abilities, he never passed up an opportunity to discuss her plans.

Most people in town avoided him like the plague, but she smiled at him, her brilliant blue eyes sparkling as she looked at him. She laughed at his sarcastic quips, often repaying him in kind and appeared to be wholly and completely unafraid of him.

* * *

On a warm, sunny afternoon, early in May he came home from another grueling day of collecting rent to find her tending to a rose topiary almost as tall as herself.  
"It'll go on the terrace," she explained to him, carefully cutting away a few wayward leaves.

"It looks very nice," he complimented, feeling his body relax and his muscles unwind as he watched her work.  
The conservatory was bathed in sunlight and comfortably warm, the air filled with the sweet, heady fragrance of the roses.

There was a mountain of paperwork waiting for him in his office, but he found himself reluctant to leave, wishing he could stay with her and just talk to her or simply watch her.

He was looking forward to coming home on the days she worked for him, he realized with a start, his heart suddenly fluttering nervously.  
When had that happened?

He was turning into a rather sad, pathetic old fool, nursing a hopeless crush on a lovely young woman who didn't think of him twice.

The realization worked like plunge of cold water and snapped him out of his wistful thoughts.

Chastising himself inwardly, he excused himself with a few brusque words and left for his office.

* * *

Nervously biting her bottom lip, Belle clutched the vase tighter against her and raised her hand to knock on the polished wood of the door in front of her. Her impulsive idea seemed innocent and friendly enough back in the conservatory, but what if he took it badly?

She'd expected him to call out for admittance, so she was surprised to find him opening the door for her, his eyes growing wide as he took her in.

"Hello…" she started with an awkward smile, feeling horribly self-conscious all of a sudden. Without realizing it, she yanked her hair down so it would cover the right side of her face and hide the scars on her cheek, a gesture she performed thoughtlessly countless time each day. Taking a deep breath for courage she held out the bouquet of roses to him.  
"I thought you might like to have these… to brighten up your office."

His face colored slightly and he took the vase from her hands in reflex. "Thank you… that's very thoughtful of you…"

"It would be a shame to let them go to waste," she answered with a smile, relieved by his reaction. "The roses are cropping up nicely."

"They most certainly are, Miss French," he said, admiring the bouquet. "You're working a miracle."

Flushing with pleasure at his compliment, Belle gave him a beaming smile. Really, she didn't understand why everybody else in town disliked him so much. He was pleasant to talk to, if not a little shy and cut quite a striking figure in his impeccable suits and grey-streaked hair.

Then she noticed to her dismay that one of the stems of the roses had broken, the rose hanging down dejectedly.  
"Looks like one of them didn't make it after all," she said sadly, intending to reach for it and take it out.

Mr. Gold peered around the bouquet to see for himself and before she could do anything, he broke off the rose and offered it to her with a small smile. "It seems like a shame to let it go to waste," he told her softly, echoing her earlier words.

Her heart fluttering, she took the beautiful petalled, deep crimson rose from him and inhaled its sweet fragrance.  
She knew she was blushing when she looked up to meet his eyes again, the sweetness of the gesture taking her completely by surprise.

"Thank you," she replied breathlessly, unable to look away from his gaze. "I -uhm… I should be going home"

"Yes…" he replied, his face falling slightly before he recovered himself. "Yes, of course. I'll see you next week, Miss French. Thank you again for the roses."

"You're most welcome, Mr. Gold," she answered, feeling both strangely elated and sad that she wouldn't see him for another five days. "Until next week."

Giving him one last smile, she turned around, clutching her rose tightly in her hand as she walked away.

* * *

From that afternoon on he stopped fighting the urge to want to be around her. It was futile and hopeless and although he forbade himself grimly to nourish any hope that she might return his feelings, he couldn't begrudge his wary and lonely heart the opportunity to be near her whenever she allowed it.  
Surprisingly enough, she didn't seem to mind his company, didn't even object when he brought his laptop and paperwork down to the conservatory to work on them while she tended to the roses.

They didn't always talk, but he reveled in the opportunity of simply being near her, watching her from the corner of his eyes when he could be sure she was focusing on a task at hand and listening to the songs she hummed under her breath and the way she talked to the flowers when she thought he couldn't hear her.

Spring turned to summer and by the time June rolled around his garden was in full bloom and he was hopelessly captivated by her.  
The more time he spend in her presence, the more he craved her. The three days she spend at his house weren't nearly enough and always seemed to fly past, while the next four days dragged on like something dead.  
She teased him, laughed at his stories and smiled a smile at him that made him feel loved and cherished, no matter how fanciful the notion was.

* * *

One Wednesday night, the evening before the Summer Stolstice she was trimming the roses covering the gazebo when he walked up to her, carrying a bottle of wine and two glasses.  
"Can I tempt you?" he asked her, holding up the bottle, his face hesitant.

"That would be lovely," she beamed at him, putting down her shears and wiping her hands on her skirt, wishing she looked a little more put together.

He gestured to the lawn chairs inside the gazebo and she sank down into own of them gratefully, watching how he poured her a generous glass of Pinot noir.

As he sat down across from her and absent-mindedly toyed with his own glass, she felt his eyes on her and gave him a little smile.  
"It is so peaceful here."

She'd put up fairy lights a few weeks ago, twining them among the roses, bathing the gazebo in soft light. From the forest she could hear an owl hooting and the night air smelled of sun, grass and roses.

"It is," he agreed quietly, taking a sip of his wine and the dark burr of his accent made her insides quiver.  
She knew was being ridiculous and an idiot, but as the months wore on, her infatuation with the landlord and pawnbroker had grown into something far more deeper and more meaningful until she had known for sure that she was in love with him and loved him more than she'd ever loved anyone else in her life.

She loved working for him, loved that she was privileged to see glimpses of the man no-one else got to see, loved that she was leaving an imprint in his home, something that would always remind him of her, even if her work here was long over.

For now, she couldn't bear to think about that day. It would take months before her roses would stop blossoming and as he asked after the books she'd been reading and shared his own stories with her she was determined to just enjoy this perfect moment.

* * *

The summer that year was a warm and beautiful one and their evening chats became a recurring occurrence.  
He cherished each and every one of those nights where he could just pretend that they were the only two people in the world and that she would never leave him again.

One evening she told him about mayor Mills' rejection of her librarian application and the reason why and he seethed about it for days, his antipathy against the unfeeling woman reaching a new low.

He couldn't imagine how anyone could look at her and see anything but the beauty of her corn-flower eyes and the way they shone with warmth and loveliness. Or how her beautiful curls danced around her shoulders, making his fingers itch with the need to run them through the silky strands. Or how her lips were full and luscious like rose petals, forever curving into a smile and how he longed to kiss them. Or how the soft curves of her body enthralled him and begged to be caressed and worshipped.  
Even the scars on her face were, in their own way, beautiful to him. They were a part of her and a mark of her strength and endurance and instead of putting them off, they only made him want to wrap her up in his arms and protect her even more, ensuring that no hurt would ever cross her path again.

Very early into their acquaintance he had noticed her habit of hiding the burned side of her face behind her hair and each time her hand reached out to cover her face with a curtain of hair, his heart clenched painfully.  
She shouldn't feel like she had to be hiding or covering herself up. She was beautiful and beguiling and he wished that he was allowed to tell her and show her that every day for the rest of her life.

* * *

When August came and the evenings slowly turned colder, a chilling sense of dread started to fill his heart.  
The roses in the garden were beginning to wilt and it wouldn't be long before their time to bloom was over.  
Belle would prepare his garden for the winter and that would be it. She'd have no reason to come to the house until spring next year and he would have to make do without her presence and nearness during the long, cold winter months.

He thought desperately of a ploy to keep her with him once her work with him was done, but as he stared at the ceiling during the long, sleep-deprived nights when he lay awake, he couldn't think of anything.  
She was friendly to him, but it was unthinkable that such a beautiful, young woman would develop feelings for an old monster like him.  
They were friends of sorts, and that in itself was astonishing. Any unwanted declarations on his side would ruin the little between them that there was.

Until an idea hit him. At first he tried to dismiss it, trying to convince himself that it was as impossible as every other scheme he had come up with so far.

But as the rose petals began to fall and Belle started to wear warm coats and scarfs to protect herself against the cold his desperation grew and the idea gained in merit.

* * *

When September came the weather took a turn for the worse and after a week of heavy rain and icy temperatures Mr. Gold's garden, that had bloomed so beautifully all summer, began to deteriorate.

She knew the inevitable was happening, but it still broke her heart to suggest to him that it was probably time to prepare the garden for the winter and end their contract.

He gave an answer that was as ambiguous as possible, leaving her unsure of his intentions.  
Nevertheless he offered to drive her home that evening, and she accepted readily, partly because she disliked the idea of her being out and about by herself in the dark and partly because she longed to prolong their time together as much as possible.

Heavy rain pelted the roof of the Cadillac as he stopped in front of the 'The Game of Thorns' and she bit her lip, her stomach sinking at the thought that this was probably one of the last times.

Swallowing her feelings down, she offered him a small smile. "Thank you for driving me home, Mr. Gold."

"It was my pleasure, Miss French," he replied, clenching his hands nervously around the wheel and she eyed him curiously.  
He had been acting out of sorts all evening, being uncharacteristically quiet around her and for the first time ever there had been a hint of uncomfortableness around them.

"Good night then," she said finally, reaching out for the handle of the door.

"Miss French…" he started, his voice suddenly sounding urgent. "If I might have another moment of your time…"

She turned around and stared at him, noticing the small beads of sweat on his forehead and nodded her consent.

"I'd like to run a proposition by you," he continued, his voice strained as he uttered the next words: "I wish to marry you."

"W-what?" she stammered, completely gobsmacked, not believing her ears.

"Please hear me out," he hurried, holding up his hand. "I believe we can come to a mutually satisfactory arrangement… If you agree to marry me, I will cover the full expenses of the surgery that will remove your scars.  
That way you can realize your dream of becoming a librarian if you still wish to be one…"

Her heart that had been soaring at the first part of his proposal plunged to the soles of her feet at the second part.  
Shaking her head a little, she tried to make sense of the jumble of emotions inside her head, her hand straying to her hair to pull it across her cheek and neck, hiding the burn marks from his view.

"Why do you want to marry me?" she asked eventually, surprised at how calm she was sounding.

"I like you," he answered promptly and there was no denying that the look in his deep brown eyes was sincere. "I'm… tired of living my life alone in that big house, surrounded by antiques and roses. I don't expect a great love-affair… I'm not looking for romance… I simply want companionship."

He continued to look at her anxiously and Belle took a few moments to contemplate her answer.

He didn't love her… his impassive speech had cleared up that much. And yet, he choose her to spend his life with, that had to count for something. If she married him, she'd never have to leave him again. He might not love her, but she could love him enough for the both of them and perhaps in time he'd grow more fond of her too.

The idea of undergoing surgery didn't appeal to her much, but it would be a small price to pay.

She'd be his wife and he would be her husband.  
And the idea was too tempting to resist.

"All right," she replied eventually.

"A-all right?" he repeated, his jaw slacking.

"I think you've made a very compelling proposal," she clarified.

"I'll marry you."

* * *

**I'd love to hear what you think! **


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

She had accepted him.

In the days after his proposal he walked around in a daze, alternating between elation, terror and shock.  
She had agreed to marry him and she was going to be his wife.  
He made himself no illusions about the reason for her acceptance. Their marriage was a strictly businesslike agreement where both parties got out of the deal what they wanted.

But he was already getting far more out of this deal than he could have ever wished for.

She still came to the house on Mondays, Tuesday and Wednesdays, to finish her work on the garden, but once she was finished with that they sat down to discuss their future.

They agreed it wouldn't make much sense to drag out their engagement for a long period of time and settled on a wedding date in October.

She wasn't keen on the idea of a big, elaborate wedding and preferred a ceremony at the courthouse with only her father present.  
He couldn't care less about the particulars, as long as at the end of it she was wearing his ring and belonged to him.

The matter of their courtship gave some awkwardness. He didn't want to presume that just because they were engaged now she would welcome his attentions, so he kept his hands mostly to himself, no matter how much he yearned to touch her.  
On a few occasions he had allowed himself to kiss her cheek and although she never indicated discomfort, standing perfectly still as his lips grazed her soft skin, she never initiated any intimacies herself and he took that for the sign that it was.

* * *

They were getting married.

She still wasn't over the shock of him proposing to her, spending the first days expecting him to withdraw the offer and chalk it up to a momentarily leave of his senses.

But when a fortnight passed and it became clear that that his intentions were perfectly serious she dared to believe that it was actually happening.

They were getting married.

Her father had gotten the shock of his life when she had told him and it did take some convincing before he believed that she had entered this engagement of her own free will and that she was happy to marry him.

And happy she was. They were still a little awkward around each other and it still hurt her to think that he didn't actually love her, but he was the kindest, most interesting man he had ever met. Or at least that was how he acted around her and she felt privileged to know that he was letting her see this side of him.

She was probably one of the few, if not the only person who used his given name and her heart still fluttered every time she used it.  
Rowan… somehow the name suited him perfectly.

The rest of the town was equally shocked and bewildered by their wedding announcement, but Belle, having been used all her life to stares and whispers took little notice of it.

She knew people wondered how such a battered girl like her had managed to snatch up the wealthiest man in town - because not _everybody_ bothered to lower their voice when discussing them - but she tried not to let it sting too much.

He might dislike her scars and the way they made her look, but he did like _her_ and that would have to be enough for her.

* * *

A week before the wedding Belle had an appointment with Dr. Whale to discuss the procedure of her reconstructive surgery.  
Much to his surprise, she asked him to accompany her and he gladly obliged. The operation would take place after the wedding and she'd be living with him while she was recuperating from it.  
He wanted to know everything there was to know on how to take care of her then.

Before they sat down to talk over the particulars of the surgery however, Dr. Whale proceeded to examine the scar tissue on her face and that was the first time a twinge of unease flickered through him.

He watched as Belle sat on the exam table, her posture rigid and her head turned to the side, while Whale probed and poked at her scars.  
Watching another man touch her was agonizing in itself, but seeing him do it in such a clinical, cold manner made his blood boil.

His darling Belle should know only loving, gentle touches and this was anything but, and just looking at her confirmed how uncomfortable she was. Her eyes were tightly closed the entire time and he wondered if she was even breathing. Finally Whale appeared to have concluded his assessment and stepped back, his face serious.

Belle hopped off the table and sank down on a chair beside him, across from Whale's desk, giving him a slight smile as she did so, but his stomach dropped further when he realized the smile didn't reach her eyes.

"Will you be able to fix it, doctor?" she then asked matter of factly.

Whale heaved a sigh. "I will… eventually. But it's not going to be easy, Miss French."

His stomach clenching into a tight knot, he forced himself to sit still while he addressed the surgeon. "How so?"

"Well, as you know Miss French, at the time you suffered multiply second degree burn wounds. In some places they could even considered to be third degree burns. Meanwhile the scar tissue has managed to form itself over the course of sixteen years. It will be difficult to reverse that process."

"But it can be done?" Belle asked anxiously.

"Yes, but it will be a long and very painful process," Whale cautioned her. "You'll need several skin transplants and we need to use suitable patches of skin from other places of your body to replace the skin of your face. We cannot remove all of the scar tissue in one operation, so you will probably need as many as three follow-up surgeries before the transplantation is complete."

Gold felt a wave of nauseousness wash over him at the doctor's words and he didn't dare to look at Belle's face to see how she was taking the news.

"But at the end of it, my face will be as good as new?" Belle asked hopefully, although he could hear the slight tremor in her voice.  
He finally managed a glance sideways and saw to his horror that she had paled considerably, despite the brave face she was putting on.

"Well, there'll always be markings, but it will be an improvement," Whale replied. "But I feel that I must warn you, Miss French. The surgeries and the recoveries from it, are going to be extremely painful. It will feel like your face has been burnt all over again."

Belle swallowed visibly at his words, but nodded decisively. "It'll be worth it. When can we schedule the first surgery?"

"I understand you will be married next week, how about the week after that?" Whale suggested. "I'll need to see you one more time before that to determine which parts of your skin we're going to use for the transplantation."

As Belle nodded her consent, Gold had to physically stop himself from grabbing her hand and dragging her as far away as possible from this place and from the maniac with his scalpel sitting across the desk.

He realized he has grossly underestimated the entire thing. When prior to this talk he had thought about cosmetic surgery he envisioned it to be a superficial procedure without many risks involved. She would have the surgery and take a week or so to recover from it while he got to pamper and spoil her and after that the rest of the world would see what he had already discovered months ago: how truly beautiful she was.

Instead Whale was going to cut her skin, hurt her, put her through a world of pain and agony and it was him who had practically presented Belle to him on a silver plate with his stupid, thoughtless scheme. Because of his selfish attempt to keep her for himself, Belle was now looking at four excruciating surgeries.

Had he sold her fate away to a butcher he could not have felt more wretched.

* * *

After the appointment with Dr. Whale he drove her home, the entire drive spend in a loaded, suffocating silence while he tried to come up with something, anything he could offer her aside from the surgery, that would still convince her to marry him.

He couldn't think of a single thing, but as he parked the Cadillac in front of the flower shop he knew that he had to say something.

The irony wasn't lost on him. Exactly two weeks ago they had sat in this very same spot and she had made him the happiest man alive by accepting his proposal. Now there was a good chance she was about to break off the deal.

"Belle…" he started with some difficulty. "If you'd rather not go through with the surgery I would understand… it is not too late to call the whole thing off…"  
Uttering the words broke his heart, but the thought of her going through all that pain and discomfort was even worse.

Had her face looked pale in Whale's office, at his words she turned as white as a sheet, even her lips losing some of their color.  
"No!"

The vehemency of her response surprised him somewhat, but before he could say anything she continued.

"I want this! I know it's going to hurt, but so what? It won't be anything I haven't already dealt with. And at least I won't have to look like this anymore…"

"Belle…" he started hoarsely, her words cutting through him like a knife. He wanted to tell her how beautiful she was, how she didn't need to change a single thing about herself because she was just perfect in every way. How he just wanted to love her and worship her in any way she would let him for the rest of his life.

But the words dried up in his throat as he realized they would be exactly what would drive her irrevocably away from him.

"Please…?" she pleaded quietly, her shaking hand brushing her hair down, hiding her face from him. "I don't want to go back on our deal."

Of course. Their stupid, thoughtless deal that he was now damning to hell.

"Very well," he forced himself to say, his voice hollow. "Our deal still stands."

* * *

After he had dropped her off at her father's house, Belle went up to her room, still shaken from the events of the day.

After washing up and changing into a pair of comfortable pajama's, she hesitated for a moment before stepping out into the hallway and taking the large, oval mirror from the wall and back into her room.

Belle didn't like seeing her own appearance and over the years she had developed ways of looking into the mirror from such an angle that she would only see her eyes or her lips as she was applying make-up, or just her hair as she was styling it.

But now she needed to see, really see herself and so, with some trepidation, she propped up the mirror on her desk and sat down.  
For once her gaze didn't linger on the hair or eyes that gave her appearance some redeeming quality, but instead focused instantly on the unsightly lines that disfigured the right side of her face.

She had become more or less used to them and over the years she had developed a way of not really noticing them anymore.  
But she had to be honest with herself now. They were bad. They were ugly and off-putting and it was no wonder Rowan couldn't bear the sight of them.

The talk with Dr. Whale had filled her with dread and her insides clenched with apprehension when she thought of how badly the surgery was going to hurt her and how horrible it would be to have to spend lengthy amounts of time in the hospital again.  
But she had been truthful in the doctor's office when she had said that it would be worth it.

She wanted to become Rowan's wife more than anything in the world. Even if he didn't love her back and even if this was just a deal to him, he made her happy just by being near her.  
And she couldn't quench the hope that she would be able to return some of that happiness that he gave her so effortlessly if she was just given the chance.  
He was looking for a companion and she knew he enjoyed her company. She would take care of his garden and of his house and ensure he was happy in any way that she could.

And if that meant she had to get rid of the scars, then so be it.  
In a way it made sense. Rowan Gold was an appreciator of beauty. His house, the items in his shop and the impeccable suits he wore indicated just how much he valued the fine things in life. It only made sense that he would apply the same standards to his future wife.

And so far he had seen little more of her than a blemished, appalling face and stained, mud-covered outfits when she'd been working in the garden.  
It was no wonder the man didn't look at her twice.

Tonight he had almost gone back on their deal, Dr. Whale's words had no doubt made him realize that she was even more damaged than he had anticipated and as a result she had almost lost him.

She could bear a few surgeries and a bit of pain.

She couldn't bear losing him.

* * *

His heart clenched every time he thought of the surgery she would have to endure after their wedding.  
Surgeries. Plural.  
How had he not seen this coming?

The terror of what he had inflicted on her destroyed most of the happiness he had previously felt when he thought of their wedding.  
Not only would she be shackled to an old monster, she would be in excruciating pain for months and months on end.

The surgery was supposed to be her end of the bargain, the thing she would get out of marrying the likes of him.

For reasons he couldn't really fathom, she didn't want to back out of their deal, but he felt that he owed it to her to make the terms of that deal as easy on her as possible.

The answer as to how to accomplish that came to him one evening as she was heading into the bedroom, just coming out of the shower, his only cover the towel that he had draped around his hips.

When he caught sight of himself in the mirror of his wardrobe he stopped dead in his tracks.

He never looked at himself in the mirror if he could help it, unless he was fully dressed, his suits serving as an armor against the disconcerting reality that lay underneath them.

But now he did look, cringing as he took inventory of himself, like he would to a badly damaged, useless bit of antique that might have been of value once, but had lost all of its appeal because of the dents and scrapes it had acquired over the years.

He had always been slight and scrawny, but now it was painfully obvious that the years had taken its toll on him.  
His hair was streaked with grey, his face etched with lines and wrinkles and his skin white and pasty.

Looking into the mirror he realized he couldn't inflict his unappealing self on beautiful, sweet Belle.

Safe from the secret fantasies he had harbored about her and had hidden away deep in his heart, he had actually given very little thought about what would happen after the wedding.

The wedding would be followed by a wedding night, but the thought that someone as young and perfect as Belle would willingly come to his bed was so ludicrous that he hadn't dared to actually believe it would happen.

But at least now he knew what he could do to make this whole dreadful situation marginally better for her: he wouldn't impose on her, wouldn't demand anything from her.  
As long as she was his wife and shared his house, he would be perfectly content.

* * *

Their wedding day finally arrived. And despite everything his heart was beating fast with anticipation as he was waiting for her in front of the courthouse, dressed in his finest navy blue suit, his nerves flying rampant.

She arrived on the arm of her father and he never noticed the man's apprehensive look because he only had eyes for her.  
She was wearing a tea-length, white dress with a flaring skirt and lace sleeves that fit her like a glove and accentuated every curve of her beautiful body.  
Her hair was down and falling in a mass of soft, shining curls around her shoulders and it took every ounce of self-control he possessed not to wrap her up in his arms and bury his hands in it.

But what captivated him the most were her radiant blue eyes, smiling and beaming at him as if this was indeed the happiest day of her life.  
And when he laced his fingers through hers as they entered the courthouse, he allowed himself to pretend that this was all real.

That she was as madly in love with him as he was with her and that their happily ever after began today.  
When he vowed to love and cherish her, protect and honor her in sickness and in health until death parted them he knew he was speaking nothing but the plain truth, but when she repeated the same vows to him, her voice trembling slightly, he let himself believe that she meant them too.

And when the judge told him to kiss the bride he allowed himself on single moment of weakness when he leaned down and brushed his lips over hers.

It was barely a kiss, nothing more than he dared to bestow on her and far more than he was entitled to take, but the feel of her soft, warm lips against his was already enough to send his heart in overdrive.

Pulling back had been almost impossible, but he had managed, although it had taken a while before he was able to focus on anything but her mouth again.

Once he had gathered his bearings he gave her a happy, jubilant smile, his insides warming as she beamed back at him, her smile lighting up the room.

She was his wife now and he had never been happier.

* * *

They were married. He was her husband now and she could now call the house she had spend so many wonderful hours in over the summer her home.

After the wedding they had gone out to dinner with her father and despite the awkwardness of it - she wondered if the two men would ever become at ease in each other's company - she couldn't help but feel almost giddy with joy.

All through the dinner - and even with a gun pointed to her head she wouldn't be able to recall what she had eaten - she had sneaked convert glances at her husband, not yet able to fully grasp what had happened: they were married now.  
They were man and wife and her lips were still tingling from the soft kiss he had given her and the promise it entailed.

Her blissful happiness had lasted until they had arrived home and he had given her a tour of the house, showing her the rooms she hadn't set foot in previously.

Then he had shown her what was to be her room and the implication of it had chilled her to the bones.

He didn't intent to sleep with her.

After he had left her alone with a softly spoken goodnight, she sank down on the bed with shaking hands.

He didn't want her. He didn't even want to spend their wedding night together.

Compulsively she pulled her hair over her right cheek, the gesture effectively ruining her carefully crafted curls and she sobbed helplessly as she understood.

Of course he didn't want her. Not when she was looking like this.

Not wanting to cry and not wanting to give in to the despair that was threatening to enfold her, Belle got back to her feet and started to unpack the suitcases with her things that had been brought up earlier.

Methodically she hung her clothes into the wardrobe, trying to distract herself from her tears and misery until she came upon a small bag.

Taking it out of the suitcase she pushed the tissue paper away that protected the purchase she had so hopefully and eagerly made a few days ago.

With hands trembling anew she pulled out the silk negligee, tears trickling down over her cheeks as she did so.

She hadn't expected him to love her. After all, he had been perfectly clear about that when he'd proposed to her.  
But she had not expected him to shun her so completely and it left her feeling bewildered. Even if her appearance revolted him, he would had known what she looked like when he asked her. Why deal for a companion if he couldn't bear it to be with her?

It just didn't make any sense.

He had looked so genuine when he had made his vows that she had almost believed he'd been speaking the truth.  
That he had meant the words as much as she had.

His kiss, albeit chaste and hesitant had surprised and thrilled her. He didn't have to kiss her, but he had.  
And she remembered the look on his face just as he had pulled away from her. The passionate, almost feral look of hunger on his face that had dissipated after a second and had been replaced by his usual, carefully controlled mask.

She was terrified and not at all convinced of the wisdom of her next move, but Belle couldn't help herself. Taking off her wedding dress she changed into the negligee and stepped into the adjoining bathroom to fix her hair and make-up.

The negligee, although rather modest in its kind was more revealing than anything she had ever put on before and if she went to see him like this it would be blatantly obvious what she was after.

She wanted her husband and even if she made a complete fool out of herself, she had to try.

Because if she didn't try tonight, on their wedding night, she would never find the courage to attempt it again.

She could always offer to turn off the lights if he was truly put off by her.

Stepping out of her room she crossed the hallway to his bedroom and stood in front of the closed door for long minutes, desperately trying to gather her courage.

"Do the brave thing and bravery will follow…" she whispered almost inaudibly, her voice choking with nerves before she raised her hand and knocked.

* * *

**Please let me know what you think! **


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

After he had wished Belle good night and left her in her room, he had returned to his own bedroom and started to undress. He took off his shoes and socks, suit jacket, vest and tie and placed every item neatly back into his wardrobe, not really paying mind to what he was doing, his thoughts drifting to the wonderful woman just across the hall.

His wife.

Closing the wardrobe he sank down on the bed, smiling softly. His beautiful, sweet, precious wife that he longed for with every fibre of his being. She wouldn't want him like that and his resolve to make things as easy and comfortable for her as possible firmly stopped him from going back to her.

She would be there when he woke up tomorrow morning and perhaps he could suggest they'd spend the day together. She might want to join him for a picnic or a trip to the seashore and he would get to spend some time with her, just the two of them.  
Trying to distract himself from thoughts of what they would do if she was with him in his room, in his bed right now, he tried instead to focus on ideas that would appeal to her enough to get her to agree to go out with him.

When the knock to his door came, he looked up startled.

"Come in…" he said, a hint of trepidation slipping into his voice, worried something was amiss.

The door opened slowly to reveal Belle standing on the threshold and immediately his mouth went dry and his eyes grew wide at the sight of her, dressed in a white, lace nighty that clung to her soft curves, dipped into her cleavage and stopped just below her hips, revealing the near endless amount the cream-white skin of her legs.

Jaw slacking, his eyes travelled over her hungrily, until they came to rest on her flushed face, surrounded by silky chestnut curls and her bright blue eyes, wide with nervousness.  
She bit her lip, her teeth digging into the curve of her velvet red bottom lip and instantly all of his blood rushed southwards towards his groin, leaving him dizzy with arousal and surprise.

"B-Belle…?" he managed eventually, his voice hoarse and breathless.

"It is our wedding night," she told him by way of explanation, stepping further into the room.

She was trembling slightly, goosebumps spreading over her arms and it was the vulnerability of it that made him scramble to his feet and close the distance between them.  
Up close in front of him, she was even more captivating, more breathtakingly beautiful and his fingers itched with the need to touch her.

He only barely held himself back, needing the confirmation from her, because it was just too impossibly good to be true… she simply couldn't be here because she wanted him.

It took him three attempts to make his voice work, but eventually he managed the words. "You won't object then… to a wedding night?"

She lifted her eyes to his face, her gaze bright with honesty and determination. "I won't."

He still scarcely dared to believe her, but lifted a shaking hand to her face nevertheless, his heart beating staccato against his ribcage. Carefully, terrified of hurting her, he let the tips of his fingers brush across her brow and down over her right cheek, gently tracing the lines of her scars until they were trailing down over her neck.

She made a strained little noise in the back of her throat, her eyes widening in shock and he gave her a soft smile, reveling in the feel of her warm skin.  
Small hands settled on his chest and he felt the touch burning though the cotton of his shirt, the sensation going straight to his heart.

He brought up his other hand to cradle the left side of her face, struggling to keep in control.

Whatever reason she had to come to him like this, he had to thread carefully, he couldn't take advantage of her.

He lowered his head slowly, giving her ample time to move away in case she changed her mind, but instead she stood on her tiptoes to meet him, causing his heart to surge with gratitude.  
Tentatively he brushed his lips over hers, the sensations a hundredfold stronger than when he had kissed her in the courthouse.  
This wasn't a quick, stolen peck on the lips, but a slow start to something that promised to be so much more.

He concentrated on the curve of her lips, slowly sucking her bottom lip between his to familiarize himself with its soft texture.  
When her eyes fluttered close he dared to run this tongue over her lips, the first taste of her making his head spin

Her hands moved to his shoulders, her mouth parting under his and he slid his tongue past her lips, his hands loosely settling on her waist.  
He explored her mouth gently, her artless little sighs and whimpers telling him exactly what she liked.  
She tasted like honey and apricots and when she started to respond to him, her tongue tentatively seeking out his he couldn't keep himself from wrapping his arms around her and pulling her tightly against him.

He had dreamed of kissing her almost from the moment she had set foot into his house, but having her in his arms far surpassed any fantasy he'd ever had.  
Because they were already in his bedroom and when he moved his hands over her, he could feel the heat of her body through the soft silk of her gown.  
She smelled of sunlight and roses and he breathed in her scent deeply through his nose as one of his hands buried itself into her curls, while the other slowly trailed down over her shoulder blades, her back and the curve of her bottom, making her moan into his mouth.

When his hand trailed even lower, his fingertips grazed against the silky softness of her thigh and the feel of her bare skin, combined with the lack of oxygen made him draw back with a gasp.

Her face and upper chest were flushed, her mouth red and swollen and her blue eyes shades darker than before and he only lasted for a second before he claimed her lips again.

* * *

She hadn't know what to expect when she'd stepped into his room, not sure if he wanted or desired her at all and if she was doing the right thing by offering herself to him in this manner.

Now, with him crushing her to his chest, his mouth plundering hers and his warm hands stroking her body she knew she'd do it a thousand times over if he just kept kissing her like this.

His mouth still fused to hers, he guided her towards the bed and softly coaxed her to lie down, following her immediately, his body covering hers as he settled himself over her. His weight was warm and comfortable and she stretched against him blissfully, her hands sliding into his soft hair.

After a long, intoxicating kiss he pulled back again, settling his arm next to her head so he could lean on his elbow while he gazed at her, his eyes soft with wonder.

She felt his eyes trail over her face, his hand playing with her curls and for a long moment she just stared back, her heart pounding in her ears, mesmerized by the expression on his face.

Then she realized that every inch of her scars was on display for him to see and she tensed underneath him, her right hand coming up to cover up them with her hair.

A look of hurt crossed his features, but without speaking a word, he caught her hand in his and brought it to his lips. Carefully he kissed each of her fingertips, never breaking their gaze. Then he released her hand and lowered his head again, gentle lips touching her scars, kissing the sensitive skin tenderly.

In reflex she shut her eyes tightly close, her breath catching as he lavished the marred skin that up until then only had been a source of pain to her.  
Finally his lips sought her mouth again and she sighed into the kiss, her body relaxing under him.

This time his kiss was slow and so filled with tenderness that tears escaped from underneath her closed lids and trickled down over her temples.

Still leaning on his elbow as not to crush her with his weight, he stroked her brow with his thumb, his fingers tangled in her hair, while his other hand moved down over her body.  
The short negligee had ridden up as she'd laid down and was now pooling around her hips and slowly he slid his hand up underneath it, his fingers gently caressing the skin he encountered. He stroked her hips, her stomach and the undersides of her breasts with soft, featherlight touches until she was writhing beneath him, panting with want.

He trailed his lips over her neck, giving her the chance to gulp in some much needed air while his touches underneath her nighty became more insistent.

"Please…" she begged helplessly, arching up into his touch as his hand lovingly kneaded her breast, her body shuddering.

* * *

He had always know she was beautiful, but there was something undeniable erotic about having the love of your life sprawled out on your bed beneath you, unrestrainedly moaning into your every touch.  
He didn't know what he done to deserve to touch her and love her like this, but he was determined to make every single moment of it count.  
She was so genuine in her reactions, so responsive to his ministrations that he even ceased to doubt himself and just let her sighs and cries of pleasure guide his hands. She was utterly addictive and breathtaking like this and it took every bit of focus he had not to lose himself into her.

She might have come to him willingly, but that didn't mean she wanted _him_, or was waiting for his declarations.  
She was young and passionate and deserved to be cherished thoroughly. In retrospect it had probably been foolish of him to leave her to herself on her wedding night.  
And if she choose to come to him, he would do everything in his power to endeavor to please and satisfy her and treasure every second he was allowed to touch and kiss her.

But he had to keep his wits with him. He couldn't loose control and blurt out his feelings, begging her to love him in return. He'd give her anything she'd ask for, but he wouldn't burden her with his admissions.

Now that he had a purpose, the desire-induced fog in his mind cleared somewhat and he earnestly devoted himself to bringing her pleasure.

Experimentally he dipped a finger between her tights and stroked her through the white lace of her panties, reveling in her choked cry and the wetness he encountered.

As lovely as the scrap of clothing was, he needed it gone, so he could touch all of her. Pushing the garment down over her hips, he coaxed her legs apart with gentle hands and softly caressed her with one finger. She bucked a little against his hand and he gave in to the temptation to cup her, feeling exactly how hot and wet she already was and drawing a breathless moan from her throat.

As he began to explore her he quickly discovered that she liked slow, firm strokes and he worked her up until she was shaking with need and only then he pressed his thumb against her small, sensitive bundle of nerves, coaxing another cry from her.

Capturing her lips with his own, he kissed her feverishly, his tongue thrusting into her mouth as he massaged her clit, feeling from the way she clawed at his shoulders and arched up against him just how close she was.

What surprised him was the way she sobbed his name as she came, clinging to him as she rode the waves of pleasure.  
Purely on instinct he continued to stroke her, trying to prolong her climax for as long as she could, but inside him his heart was expanding until it felt too big for his chest at the sound her voice breaking on his name as she reached her peak.  
He nearly bit through his tongue then, trying to stop himself from breaking down and confessing all of his love and longing to her.

When she came down from her orgasm he pressed his forehead against hers, humbled by the raw look of bliss on her face.  
"Rowan…" she murmured, her trembling fingers plucking at the buttons of his shirt. He held still and allowed her room to move as her nervous hands finally managed to undo the buttons one by one and push the shirt off his shoulders.

He discarded the item of clothing without thinking twice about it, too distracted by the way Belle was caressing her hands over his chest, the soft, almost innocent touch setting his blood aflame.

When her hands dropped to his belt he almost growled with the effort it caused him to control himself.  
He was rock hard, his arousal straining against his trousers, but if he let her undress him now, his self-restraint would snap and he would be slam himself into her straight away, this wonderful, special night ending in a manner of minutes.

And he hadn't nearly had enough of her. He needed so much more, wanted to prolong this for as long as he could and treasure every memory they made together this night.

So instead he captured her hands and guided them back up, coaxing her to hold onto the pillow underneath her head, kissing her bewildered eyes and smile.

Taking a deep breath and praying that she would let him, he took the hem of her nightie and slowly pulled it up, revealing inch after inch of glorious, porcelain skin.  
She flushed bright red when she realized his intentions, but moved with him so he could take the negligee off.

Once she was bare underneath him, he drank her in with his gaze, trying to commit every small detail of her to his brain, until she squirmed underneath him and fisted her fingers into his hair so that she could pull him down for a kiss.

* * *

Her heart had been racing from the moment he had kissed her scars, all through the mind-blowing orgasm he had given her and now that he had taken off her nightie and looked at her with smoldering eyes, his pupils completely blown away, her heart was beating so fast she thought it was going to jump out of her chest.

No one had ever looked at her like that, no one had ever_ wanted_ to look at her like that, but now he did and her heart was aching with longing for him.

It didn't make sense anymore, none of it did. Instead of being repulsed by her scars, of being repulsed by _her_, he didn't seem to be able to get enough of her and as his lips started on her forehead and slowly worked their way down, kissing both her cheeks with equal tenderness, his breath grazing over her scars without the slightest hint of revulsion or disgust, she could feel herself surrender to his touches and his kisses, every trace of apprehension leaving her body and she let herself simply bask in his attentions.

This was beautiful. They were beautiful together.

By the time he was kissing her breasts she had buried her hands into his hair once more, holding him against her and scratching her nails over his scalp in an almost desperate attempt to spur him on.

From his groans and the way his body was shaking she could tell he was beginning to lose control himself and she moaned his name wantonly, past the point of caring, reveling in the rawness of his lovemaking, in the feeling of being so desired, so wanted by him.

HIs hands were frantic now, touching and caressing her everywhere as he kneaded her soft flesh while his lips worshipped her from head to toe, his tongue laving every inch of her skin.  
By the time he kissed his way down over her stomach she was burning up with desire for him again and when he buried his face between her legs to kiss and lick her to her peak once more, her world just became a blur, everything else ceasing to exist, aside from the way his tongue worshipped her most intimate place.

She screamed when her orgasm washed over her, almost frightening in its intensity and when he crawled back up and covered her with his body again, his eyes were wild and almost feral, his mouth attacking hers as if he wanted to devour her.

This time when she tried to unbuckle his pants he let her and between the two of them they managed to get rid off his trousers and boxers.  
Once he was naked like her, he covered her body with his again as if he couldn't bear being separated from her by even an inch.  
She felt his arousal press against her belly, causing sparks of desire to shot through her own body and settling deep in the pit of her stomach.

Maneuvering a hand between them, she stroked his hard length, her stomach fluttering as he hissed in pleasure.

"Belle…" His face hovered above hers, his voice hoarse and his accent so thick she could barely make out the words. "Are you certain… is this what you want?"

She could have cried at the uncertainty in his eyes as if he really believed she would shove him away after everything he'd given her.

She barely could string two words together at this point, so instead of trying to tell him, she just wrapped her legs around his waist, trying to tell him with her body how much she wanted him.

At her move his eyes rolled back and he rubbed himself against her, the tip of his head stroking her folds.  
Reaching for one of the pillows, he coaxed her to lift her hips so he could place it underneath her, trying to make her as comfortable as possible.

Tears spilled from her eyes at the caring gesture and she cradled his face between her hands, pressing her lips against his as he carefully slid inside her.  
It had been a long time and she wasn't very experienced to begin with, but after a few uncomfortable moments her body started to adjust around him and when she clenched her walls around him she moaned contentedly from how good he felt inside her.

"Please Rowan…" she whispered against his lips, arching into the hand that was lovingly stroking her face. "I want you so much…"

* * *

His control was slipping with every brush of his lips against her warm, flushed skin, her sweet scent filling his nostrils and her musky taste washing over his tongue.  
Then he realized with a start that in a matter of days her perfect, soft skin would be marred by Whale's scalpel because of an operation he had forced on her to and his arms tightened protectively around her, wishing he could keep her here, in his bed, with him forever, just to keep her from being hurt.

After that he became desperate for her, his tongue bathing every inch of her, as if he was already trying to soothe away her pain and anguish.

By the time he was sheathed inside her, his cock throbbing with the need just to be surrounded by her, he was holding onto his sanity by the edge of his teeth.  
He barely remembered to go gentle and slow, waiting with bated breath until he felt her body accommodating him.

She was so breathtaking beautiful with her mass of chestnut curls fanned around her head like a halo and her expressive eyes wide open and drugged with desire.  
Her kisses were so sweet and loving that they made his heart falter in his chest and he brought up his hand to caress the side of her face, trying to convey all his love and longing for her with the small gesture if he couldn't speak the words.

But then she whispered his name against his lips and the words that followed caused his control to shatter.

_"I want you so much…" _

"Belle!" He pounded into her, his arms enveloping her and crushing her against him, his mouth hot and determined on her cheeks and neck.

"My Belle… _oh sweetheart…_"

He kissed her with abandon, thrusting into her with deep, firm strokes, plastering himself against her and still he wasn't close enough, still he craved more.

"I love you…" The words tore from his throat and poured out as he pressed his nose against hers, staring into her wide open eyes.  
"I love you so much, my darling… I love you…"

Sweat was trickling down from his forehead and temples, mixing with the tears that leaked from the corners of his eyes.  
Closing his eyes he kissed her again, not able to bear seeing the rejection in her eyes. He worked his hand between their bodies, just above the place were they were joined and he fondled her once more, desperate to bring her there with him.

She moaned and arched underneath him, chanting his name and just as he felt her walls clenching around him, he tumbled over the edge himself, almost collapsing against her as he spilled every bit of himself, body and soul inside her.

* * *

She couldn't stop trembling, even as he wrapped himself around her, his arms enfolding her in a tight embrace. She pressed herself closer, hiding her face against this bare chest and feeling how his hands rubbed gently over her arms and back.  
Her entire body felt boneless and languid, still humming with the intense pleasure he had given her and here, surrounded by his arms and his warmth, his declarations still ringing in her ears, she felt safer and more loved than ever before.

He_ loved_ her. He had told her so, and although her heart still hammered furiously because of it, she barely could bring herself to believe it was real. He loved her and now there was hope for them. Perhaps she could still make him happy and be the wife to him he deserved to have.

His head was resting on her shoulder and she felt his hot breath against her skin, his lips brushing against her neck softly.

Pulling back slightly, loathing to move even an inch away from his embrace, she tilted her head back, trying to look up in his face.  
"Rowan…" she murmured hesitantly, afraid to break the spell they were under.

For a moment his arms tightened around her, his hands almost painfully digging into the skin of her waist and then he eased his grip on her.

He lifted his eyes to her and she almost recoiled when she saw the fear and trepidation in its brown depths, making her heart clench with dread.  
Something was wrong and the happiness she had felt only seconds ago evaporated instantly.

"Belle…" he started hesitantly, his voice hoarse and shaking.

"I love you too," she blurted out before he could say anything else. Before he could tell her this was a mistake that he was already regretting, she had to tell him, even if it was only once.

His breath caught sharply in his throat and his eyes widened with disbelief.  
"Y-you do?"

"Of course," she replied, surprised by his reaction. "I've been in love with you since the day you gave me that rose…"

He continued to stare at her incredulously for a few seconds longer and then he crushed her to him, slanting his lips over hers in a bruising kiss.  
"Say it again…" he demanded against her lips. "Please Belle…"

"I love you…" She repeated, happy laughter slipping into her voice, her arms wrapping themselves around his neck. "I love you, Rowan."  
How hadn't he knew she loved him? Why would he ever doubt it?

"Oh my sweetheart…" he murmured against her lips, kissing her sweetly and pulling her close again until she was snuggled into his side.  
After he had tucked the duvet securely around her, he continued to nuzzle her hair and trace his fingers over her bare arms.

"I love you so much," he told her again, pressing his lips against her forehead.

"I love you too," she whispered back, burrowing herself in his arms, scarcely daring to believe that this moment was real.

He loved her and once she had her surgery they could build their future together.  
The thought of the operation that still loomed in her near future made her tense up for a moment, before she sternly reproached herself. It would be worth it.  
After tonight it would be completely worth it.

He must have felt her moment of discomfort, because he immediately rolled on top of her, his warm eyes fraud with worry and concern.  
"Sweetheart, what's the matter?"

"Nothing," she reassured him instantly, stroking the side of his face lovingly, firmly pushing her anxiety down. "Everything is perfect."

The worry leaving his face, he grinned adorably at her, kissing the tip of her nose. "It is, isn't it?"

Settling her back against his shoulder, he played with her hair, his voice low and content as he asked her: "How do you feel about a honeymoon? We'll just clear our calendar for the next month, pack our bags and go anywhere you want…"

She never knew she could feel so blissfully happy and so devastatingly sad at the same moment.

"We can't," she reminded him, her stomach dropping. "My surgery is next week…"

* * *

Her words had the effect of a bucket of ice water on him and he froze on the spot.  
Their stupid deal. That damned surgery. Why had he thought that telling her that he loved her would change anything?

"You still want to go through with that?" he asked, his tone flat and hoarse.

She shifted in his arms, giving him a strange look. "Of course I do… that's what we have agreed on, didn't we?"

"That we did."  
Apparently his offer to pay for her surgery still played a big part in her decision to marry him. And it shouldn't bother him so if this was what she truly wanted. He had offered the deal himself and he wouldn't go back on it.  
It was just that he couldn't bear the thought of her being in pain.

"Belle…" he started with difficulty, cursing himself for his inability to let the matter rest. "Do you really have your heart set on that surgery? Isn't there anything else you wish for instead? We could travel… anywhere you like… or I could try and use my influence to get you the librarian position, you wouldn't even need the surgery that way…"

During his speech she had gone as pale as a sheet and by the time he was finished, tears were spilling over her cheeks.  
She seemed to grow smaller as she pulled away from him, drawing her knees up to her chest.

"But I want to be married to you."

That was so far removed from what he's expected her to say that the words dried up in his throat in and he blinked in the face of heart-broken whisper. Something had gone wrong and for the life of him he couldn't understand what.

"We already are married," he pointed out hesitantly, his heart sinking as she seemed to pull away even further into herself, her hand creeping up to cover her scars with her hair.

"If you want to have the surgery, we'll go through with it," he promised her helplessly, wishing he had never brought up the subject in the first place. "We'll do whatever you want, darling."

At those words she stared at him, long and hard, a muscle in her jaw working furiously.

"Would you still want to be married to me, even if I don't have the surgery?" she asked eventually, her voice barely above a whisper.

"What?" He was now so confused his head was starting to hurt. "Of course I do. Why wouldn't I?"

"Even if I continue to look like this?" she pressed, her lips trembling. "If I continue to remain ugly, even after we had agreed to fix it?"

"Belle, you're _not_ ugly!" he started, his temper flaring, almost jumping out of the bed in indignation, not believing what he was hearing.  
Then the exact meaning of her words penetrated through his mind and a horrible suspicion filled him.

But it couldn't be, could it? She wouldn't agree to such an excruciating operation only for _his_ sake, would she?

"Belle…" he began again, carefully this time. "Our deal aside, do you want to have this surgery?"

When she lowered her head, avoiding his gaze, he cupped her cheek in his hand and made her look up, his heart breaking at the sight of her tear streaked face and her defeated eyes.

"But we do have a deal," she whispered. "And my scars are horrible. You don't want to look at them for the rest of your life. You deserve something better. A wife who is pretty and undamaged and…"

"Oh gods… Belle…!" his anguished cry put an end to her tearful words and a moment later she was back in his arms, pulled tightly into his lap, while he shuffled back until he was leaning against the headboard, her body cradled closely against his.

"Oh sweetheart…" he cupped her face between his hands, delicately showering her cheeks with kisses.  
"You're beautiful Belle," he told her between kisses, tears choking his voice. "I love you so much and you're so, so beautiful. Everything about you is… I've never _seen_ anyone as beautiful as you, inside and out… you're absolutely perfect in every way…"

He was crying openly now, not bothering to hide his tears. Because looking at their deal from her point of view, he now understood and he was horrified with himself.

"Oh my darling… I'm _so_ sorry…"

She was slowly melting into his arms, albeit still shaking, her arms coming up around his shoulders and head to snuggle closer, but her voice still sounded hesitant when she asked: "But why suggest the surgery if you didn't mind the scars…?"

"Because I'm an idiot," he said ruefully, pulling the blankets around them again, creating a cocoon for the two of them. "And because I was so in love with you and wanted to marry you so badly… I didn't think you'd ever agree if I just asked you so I came up with a deal."

Her eyes grew large and he could see the understanding dawning in her eyes. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ears he pressed his lips against her forehead.

"I grossly underestimated the surgery though… I thought it would be just as simple procedure and that you would be able to pursue your dreams of becoming a librarian after it.  
But ever since our appointment with Whale I have cursed myself for ever suggesting it. I don't want to see you in pain, sweetheart. I don't want that man cutting into your skin…"

At his words she finally relaxed fully into his arms, her head dropping against his shoulder as she curled into him. "I'm not too fond of the idea myself," she admitted.

"Then… the surgery is off?" he asked hopefully.

"Yes!" she said emphatically, yelping as she kissed her soundly.

"Thank god," he growled against her lips. "I was _this_ close to locking you up with me in this room."

She shivered delightedly against him, sighing when his hands started to explore her body anew.

"Just so you know," she whispered into his hair as he lowered her onto the mattress again and kissed and nibbled his way down her neck. "I would have said yes instantly if you had just asked me. I have always loved you."

"Like I said, I am an idiot," came his muffled reply as he kissed her collarbone, his hands rubbing over her sides.

"Then I am one too, I guess," she said, idly tracing patterns over his shoulders and neck. "I could have said something as well…"

"You're not an idiot," he protested instantly, moving back up to look at her reproachfully. "You're beautiful… and smart… and loving… and brave…." He was about to kiss her again when a thought struck him and he froze.

She had come to him that night, believing that he didn't desire her, believing that he was put off by her scars and still she had found the courage to come to his bedroom and make it obvious to him what _she_ wanted.  
She loved him so much and he had hurt her so badly by letting her believe that she was anything less than perfect and beautiful.

"Rowan?" she asked worriedly as he continued to look at her with an awe-struck expression on his face.

He kissed her then, reverently and deeply. "You are so brave, sweetheart," he told her. "So beautiful and courageous."

She beamed her smile at him, the last bit of anxiety leaving her eyes.

"I am your_ wife_," she answered. "And that is all I'll ever want to be."

And with that the sheer potential of their future hit him. They were married, they belonged together, no more schemes and secrets. He no longer had to hide his love and admiration for her - should never have done that in the first place - but could show her to his heart's content now.

"My beautiful wife," he agreed. "And I am _your_ husband. And I'm never letting you get out of my sight again."

* * *

**Let me know what you think! **


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